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Lev
Four years later
I enter the apartment I share with Cub and laugh as I see her on a stepladder, paint roller in hand, wearing a pair of shorts so tiny they should be illegal, and a blue football jersey knotted at the waist with FOX printed across her shoulders and the number fourteen.
Fourteen for the years I’ve loved her, fourteen for the years I’d prayed she would be mine. Fourteen was also the number of victims attributed to Carl Eugene Watts, The Duisburg Man-Eater, The Vampire of Zagłębie, The Doodler, and The Monster of Florence.
What can I say? I’m sentimental like that.
I study the wall behind her. Really, it’s a wonder I can see anything else while she’s wearing those fucking shorts.
“Cub, what are you doing?”
She jumps, the ladder wobbles, and in two long strides I slam my body against hers, pinning her to the ladder and subsequently, the wall she’s just painted—albeit badly.
“Great. Now you’ve ruined it.”
I take the roller from her hands and toss it in the tray. Royal blue paint splatters over the parquetry floors. She turns in my arms. There are speckles of blue over her nose and cheeks, like she was dusted by a fucking Smurf.
“What the hell are you doing, Cub?”
“Painting the wall ‘Giant Blue.’ Duh.” She pouts.
I chuckle and shake my head. “Why?”
“Because I want to celebrate your win. I want you to see this wall morning, noon, and night, and know that you, Lev Fox, you got drafted to the New York Giants. Do you know how incredible that is?”
I grin down at her. “Pretty sure the constant ache in my muscles is reminder enough, but I appreciate the gesture.”
“Plus, it’s pretty close to the color of my eyes, right?”
“Mmhmm. Know what else this color resembles?”
She studies my face, and when I bend and kiss that tender spot on her neck that makes her knees weak, she moans. “Oh.”
“My balls.”
“Well, we can’t have my rock-star athlete boyfriend die from blue balls before he even makes the playoffs.”
“About that,” I say and pull the box from my back pocket. I’d considered doing this on the field, a spectacular display, just the way Scout would have predicted, but I don’t want to share this with the world. No. This moment belongs to us and us alone.
“I was thinking maybe we could ditch the boyfriend title for something a little more ... permanent?”
The corners of her mouth tip up in an uncertain smile as I drop to one knee and open the little white box.
An Asscher-cut diamond on a double-pavé band sits nestled into the velvet cushion. I picked it because it looks just like the bird’s eye view of her favorite place in the world—the Central Park Zoo. Or at least, the view we have of it from our 5th Avenue apartment, and yes, we have been back to see the snow leopard since that day four years ago, and I did give her a better experience than when I tore her heart out.
“Oh my God!” She presses one paint-covered hand to her gaping mouth.
“Scout Taylor, Cub, you had my heart and my respect from the second I met you. You lit up my whole world—still do. Everything I have, everything I am, is nothing without you. You’re already mine, you’ve always been mine, but will you do me the honor of becoming mine forever?”
She shakes her head, and I feel my face fall. “I don’t know what to say.”
“For the love of God, say yes.”
“Yes! Of course I’ll marry you.”
“Oh, thank fuck!” I push the ring on her finger and stand to my full height. She jumps into my arms and I slide my hand beneath her ass and squeeze. I walk us toward the wall, and she shrieks when I push her up against the wet paint.
“Hey! You’re ruining my jersey and my paint job. I worked hard on that.”
“I’ll get you another, and no offense, Cub, but you should leave the painting to the professionals.”
“Actually, I was thinking if this whole lawyer thing doesn’t work out once I’m done with college, that I could have a career painting houses.”
“Don’t give up on your dream, Cub. I don’t need to share you with a bunch of hot and sweaty tradesmen.”
“Jealous?” she taunts in a whisper.
“Always, when it comes to you.” I sink my teeth into her neck. She cries out, and slips her hand between us to cup my dick. I unzip my fly and she pulls me free. Her shorts are threadbare and it only takes one solid rip to dissolve the crotch completely. She isn’t wearing any panties, so I slip inside. She groans, and I pound her tight little pussy into the living room wall, ignoring the paint, the fact that we’re right by the open windows of our apartment, shutting out the entire world while I make her mine. Just like I said I would. Just like I always knew she was.
Her kisses belong to me.
All of her kisses.
Forever.
Scout Taylor is mine.